


in the land of gods and monsters (i was an angel)

by hellstrider



Series: Into You [8]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Facials, In which Geralt is still a Witcher and Jaskier is basically Ariana Grande, Lingerie Kink, M/M, Mirror Sex, Scent Kink, Size Kink, The Lingerie Fic, cum kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22881133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellstrider/pseuds/hellstrider
Summary: it fits like a goddamnglove.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Into You [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596667
Comments: 18
Kudos: 867





	in the land of gods and monsters (i was an angel)

**Author's Note:**

> more into you verse,,,,,, we love this for us
> 
> title from gods & monsters by lana del rey
> 
> tumblr: thebardjaskier

It fits like a goddamned _glove._

The elven-woven fabric is a shimmering sapphire satin that moves with every twitch of Jaskier’s body, clings to him like a _second fucking skin_ ; the garter belt is more of an unribbed _corset_ , the top cresting into a tapered point between the gentle swell of Jaskier’s pecs, and it hugs him _so_ tight, is fitted to his _exact_ measurements, down to the _barest_ half-centimeter, 

As are the satin panties, the panties that have a fucking diamond-shaped _gap_ over the ass – they’re tied together with a delicate bow at the top, but they _barely_ cup the entirety of his dick when it’s _soft_ , barely keep him covered _at-fucking-all,_

Which,

 _Really_ ,

Is why he _bought it_ in the fucking _first place_ , purchased it along with three other little numbers from the tiny elven boutique in Kensington Yennefer had dragged him to, where she’d known the owner and Jaskier had been subjected to more _scrutiny_ and _praise_ than he thinks he _ever_ has, even in the damn _tabloids_ ,

“Well,” Jaskier mutters, turning in the floor-length mirror inside the massive closet he and Geralt share in their new estate, the one Geralt had bought for them after he’d been attacked in the _middle of the fucking day_ in their _own goddamn flat_ by _higher fucking vampires_ , 

The estate that they’ve christened _every surface in,_

The estate that’s become more of a _haven_ than Jaskier’s _ever_ known, because Geralt had spent a _week_ carving sigils and signs into the walls, had spent _hours_ infusing the house with as much protection as he could, _all_ for Jaskier,

 _And_ ,

He turns this way and that in the floor-length mirror, takes in the sight of the delicate ribbons running down his thighs, connected to the silky stockings that feel like air become fabric against his legs,

As he takes in the way the tiny gemstones sewn into the corset _wink_ and _twinkle_ like _starlight_ over _water_ ,

And he’s been keeping this particular number a surprise, been keeping it _hidden_ , 

Until _today_ ,

Because _today_ is –

“ _What do you want for your birthday?”_

_And Geralt burrs as he slides his hands over the swell of Jaskier’s ass, as he chases heat up the Siren’s spine and kisses lazily over his jaw,_

_And Jaskier is draped over the pliant Witcher as sweat dries on their skin, as the haze of lovemaking settles heavily over their massive master bedroom, and Geralt cups his jaw in one huge, possessive hand as he licks at one of the bruises on Jaskier’s throat,_

_As Jaskier bites his lip and feels his poor,_ abused _dick make a genuine effort where it’s trapped between their bodies,_

 _“Never been a fan of birthdays,” Geralt murmurs, which, Jaskier knows, but – “just give me another day of_ you _, little lark,”_

 _“There must be –_ ah _, Geralt – must be_ something _you want,”_

_“Mmm,” the Witcher purrs, and Jaskier’s stomach lurches up between his lungs like he’s plummeting from the damn sky as Geralt rolls him back into their sheets, as he covers Jaskier with the bulk of his body, as he drags his teeth over Jaskier’s pulse and frames his waist with his huge, calloused hands,_

_“No gift could compare to this,”_

_“No one in the_ world _would believe me if I told them you were more of a romantic than me,” Jaskier says against Geralt’s lips, and the Witcher smiles, smiles and cups his chin as he rolls his hips, and –_

If nothing in the world could compare to Jaskier,

Then Jaskier is what Geralt would get,

So,

He’s been saving this _particular_ little number,

And Geralt is still _sound_ asleep when Jaskier slinks back into their bedroom,

Lies supine on his back, belly entirely exposed, silver hair tumbling over the dark pillowcase and sharp, angular face utterly unburdened; he always looks so damn _peaceful_ when he sleeps in _their_ bed, Jaskier thinks, as _impossible_ , all-consuming _love_ clambers up in his throat, packs it like _wool_ ,

And Jaskier chews his lip as butterflies begin to unfurl from their cocoons in his stomach, as he slides onto the edge of the huge bed – _pointlessly_ huge, he thinks, because Geralt is always chasing him across it _anyway_ , even though Jaskier _rarely_ strays from the Witcher, even in his sleep,

And the butterflies whip into a damn _inferno_ in his gut as Jaskier slides over the edge of their pointlessly huge bed, as he reaches out to trace the sharp edge of Geralt’s cheekbone, as he runs a knuckle over the stubbled line of his jaw,

As he drinks in the peaceful countenance of the man that holds his _sea-born_ heart between his brutally _gentle_ hands,

And,

Jaskier exhales quietly as he coaxes the blankets away from Geralt’s bare hips so _he_ can slide over them instead, so he can settle over the ridge of his half-hard cock, and the Witcher turns into his touch on _instinct_ , turns his face towards Jaskier’s hand when the Siren splays his fingers over Geralt’s softly parted lips,

Stirs, when Jaskier bows over him, lithe body all wrapped in sapphire satin so soft it feels like water made fabric against his skin, and –

“ _Darling_ ,” Jaskier breathes lowly in Geralt’s ear; the Witcher’s body _shifts_ beneath him, muscle rippling beneath his skin the way that has Jaskier’s own dick _swelling_ in the trappings of his _barely-fucking-there_ panties, and _Geralt_ –

Geralt doesn’t _stiffen_ ,

Doesn’t _start_ ,

Wakes _slow_ and _gentle_ as his nostrils flare to take in Jaskier’s scent, 

To take in the combined scent of _both_ of them, heavy and _clinging_ on the air,

But even if he doesn’t stiffen or start, Jaskier still croons out a hushing sound as he wakes, as he shifts beneath the Siren and slides his hands up Jaskier’s stockinged thighs,

“ _Easy_ , baby, it’s just me,”

“ _Mmm_ ,” the Witcher burrs, one brow arching as those golden eyes slit open, “so it is. Good to know my senses haven’t betrayed me in my old age,”

And Jaskier grins, is about to say something when Geralt’s eyes flicker open fully as he thumbs over the satin-painted crest of Jaskier’s hips and becomes _alert_ with a swiftness normally reserved for _battle_ ,

But as Geralt thumbs over Jaskier’s hips, finds _satin_ instead of _skin_ ,

The Witcher comes _fully awake_ with a quickness Jaskier has seldom seen as his cock grows harder and _thicker_ beneath Jaskier’s ass,

As his nostrils _flare_ and his brow furrows, as his jaw clenches and his pupils dilate to consume almost all of his iris, and Jaskier’s heart is going _triple-time_ as he bites his lip, as he shifts over Geralt’s lap and rears _back_ , 

And;

“ _Jaskier_ ,” 

“Mhm,” the Siren murmurs, cheeks _burning_ as Geralt slowly begins to curl upright, as he manhandles Jaskier back over his thighs and sweeps his greedy, _searing_ gaze over the jewel-encrusted sapphire corset wrapping so _tight_ about the Siren’s slender waist it _might as well_ be his skin,

And his gaze drops from Jaskier’s waist to the swell of his cock in the panties, the panties that barely cover him up _at-fucking-all_ , the panties with the diamond gap over the ass and the bow at the top, the panties that’re _already_ –

“You’re _wet_ ,” and Geralt sounds as if he’s been punched in the damn gut when he says it,

“ _Well_ ,” Jaskier starts, but he doesn’t get the chance to _finish_ , because then Geralt is curling a hand around his nape and dragging him into a kiss that’s perfectly armed to steal the air _right_ from his lungs,

A kiss that absolutely _does_ , renders Jaskier _utterly incapable_ of even _fathoming_ what it means to breathe as Geralt’s tongue _digs_ into his mouth, and it’s _sleep-warm_ and _slick_ and _so fucking good_ it’s got Jaskier’s bones turning to _jelly_ , 

“Happy birthday,” Jaskier murmurs against Geralt’s lips, already _halfway fucking gone_ as the Witcher frames his _slender,_ delicately satin-cinched waist in his _huge_ hands, as Geralt’s hips strain up beneath him and his dark eyes rove with a _wild_ , unhinged _hunger_ over his face, a hunger that starts to go _molten_ when Jaskier adds a low, purring, “ _daddy_ ,” 

And,

Jaskier is a thing borne of the sea,

But _beyond_ that,

He’s a thing with the blood of _Gods_ rushing through his veins,

A thing that can command millions with the way he uses his voice,

But even as _powerful_ as he is when he stands on the stage,

It doesn’t come anywhere _close_ to this,

To the way he feels as he watches Geralt’s entire world _narrow down_ to the way his hands fit around the firm, _captured_ line of Jaskier’s waist, 

To the way the sapphire fabric _shimmers_ against his skin, water become satin,

To the way the Witcher’s nostrils _flare_ as he scents the _need_ bleeding from the trapped head of Jaskier’s cock, _and_ ,

Jaskier has _never_ been more powerful than he is _right fucking now,_

As he slides a hand over the front of Geralt’s throat and the Witcher lifts his chin, bares his most _vulnerable_ spot for the Siren as Jaskier’s palm becomes the armor between it and the fangs of the world,

And he’s never been _more powerful_ than he is when he’s got Geralt totally _ensnared_ by his mere _presence_ , and the _thrill_ of it has him struggling to catch his breath as the Witcher’s pupils swallow the gold of his eyes, as he shifts beneath Jaskier and starts to bear him back to the sheets,

As Geralt thrums with a _starved_ , utterly _unstoppable_ energy that promises they’re not going to be leaving their bedroom for _shit_ , and it’s the Witcher’s birthday, a day Jaskier had _vowed_ to make Geralt change his mind about, so they’ll not be _leaving_ for _shit_ , because the _only thing_ Geralt had asked for was - 

“ _Jaskier_ ,” and the Witcher breathes his name against his ear as he slides between the Siren’s thighs, as he grips Jaskier’s ass with a _possessive_ , calloused hand, 

And Jaskier lets out a pitchy _keen_ as Geralt grabs a _greedy_ handful of his ass, because _when_ Geralt grabs his ass, he _jostles_ the jewel-topped plug Jaskier’s got buried inside it, and the Witcher lets out a rough, _gut-punched_ kind of sound as he ghosts his fingertips over it, as he exhales over Jaskier’s parted lips and the _rough_ , gut-punched kind of sound simmers down into a low, _gravelly_ , utterly _wrecked_ moan,

“You’ll be the _death_ of me, little lark,” Geralt mutters, which,

“So you’ve said,” Jaskier murmurs breathlessly, and he slides his arms up over his head as Geralt starts to kiss down the side of his throat, open-mouthed and so achingly _wanting_ it’s got his damn stomach bottoming out; “I hope you – oh, _fuck_ \- don’t mind that I did your work _for you,_ I just - wanted to – be _ready_ for you, daddy,”

And Geralt won’t stop _touching_ the gem-topped plug now that he’s found it, keeps fingering it as he slides a thumb over Jaskier’s perineum and worries a bruise low on his throat with his teeth, _right_ where it sends shudders ripping down Jaskier’s ribs until he’s arching up beneath the Witcher with a gasping, “ _daddy_ , please,” 

And,

“I can smell you _everywhere_ ,” Geralt burrs against Jaskier’s jaw, “where did you –“

“Right here,” Jaskier answers earnestly, and his cock is so hard it’s _hurting_ , a bit, where it’s caught against his belly in the satin panties, “you slept through it, it was _torture_ , I wanted your fingers in my mouth, wanted your cock in my throat,”

“ _Fuck_ ,”

“Tell me,” and Jaskier splays his hands over Geralt’s scarred back as he kisses over the Witcher’s cheekbone, “tell me what you _want_ , daddy, you can have _anything_ , everything,” and,

“The camera’s all set up, you’ll want to watch this one later,” and,

“I want to make you feel _good_ , daddy, want to make you feel better than _anyone_ ever has,”

But,

“You _do_ ,” Geralt says, and he catches Jaskier’s lips in a kiss that has Jaskier’s chest hitching with it before he sinks down to flick his tongue over one pierced nipple, _and_ – “you _never_ had to lay a finger on me to do it,”

“ _Geralt_ –“

“What was that?”

And it comes out almost amused, though it's edged with _steel_ , still, the kind of thing that has Jaskier writhing a bit as he bites his lip, and Geralt lowers his mouth to the Siren's chest, sucks at his pierced nipple until –

“ _Daddy_ , oh, _fuck_ ,”

“ _There’s_ my good little lark,” and,

“Gods, Jaskier, _this is_ –“ and,

“You’re _so_ goddamn _beautiful_ ,” and,

“The _shit_ I want to _do_ to you,”

Which,

Well,

_Really,_

“You can do _anything_ , daddy, _everything_ ,” because,

“I’m _yours_ ,” so,

“Don’t hold back,” and,

“I know you’ll take care of me, daddy, you _always_ do,” so,

“Make me _sing_ ,” and Jaskier spreads his thighs when Geralt thumbs over the jewel-topped plug again, until the Witcher’s slowly working it loose, until Geralt’s sliding the plug out and rearing back to toss it on the nightstand in favor of grabbing the lube,

And Jaskier stretches out over the sheets, rolls his hips until his cock strains up against the satin panties, until the head slips loose and Geralt’s nostrils flare as his lip _curls_ , as he flashes one sharp incisor,

But then the Witcher’s sitting back on his heels as he lazily fists his own cock, _huge_ and _uncircumcised_ , angry red head weeping _fat_ pearls of pre, and Jaskier’s moving before Geralt can even utter a _single_ command, curls up and then slides towards Geralt on hands and knees, all to catch a drop of pre as it falls on his tongue,

And it tastes like _salt_ and _musk_ , like _heat_ and _life_ , like _sugar_ and _steel_ , and Jaskier _groans_ as he mouths over Geralt’s hand, the hand pumping his own cock, grins when he dips to nuzzle at Geralt’s thigh, ass in the air, and the Witcher sinks gentle fingers into the Siren’s hair as he groans thunderously and utters a single vehement “ _fuck_ ,”

As -

“You taste _so_ good, daddy,” and Jaskier nips at Geralt’s thigh, laves his tongue over his knuckles and peers up at the Witcher as he fucks into his own hand like he can’t fucking make himself stop, and he tightens his grip on Jaskier’s hair to keep him _right_ where he wants him as he fists his cock _until;_

“Fuck, _Jaskier_ –“

And Jaskier lets his tongue unfurl when Geralt cums in thick ropes of white with a rolling, burring growl, the kind of thing that drapes itself over Jaskier’s spine and makes his dick _throb_ between his thighs; his spunk gets fucking _everywhere_ , because it always _does_ , no matter how many times Geralt finishes - there’s always _so goddamn much_ of it, and it has Jaskier _whining_ as he catches most of it on a _pleading_ tongue,

As the _rest_ paints his cheeks and his chin, drips down to the already _ruined_ sheets,

And Jaskier hums as he swallows Geralt down, as he moves, slow and easy, to nuzzle at the Witcher’s battle-hardened stomach, reveling in the way the muscle clenches under his lips, against his cheek, and he smears Geralt’s spunk over the rivers and valleys of his insanely sculpted belly until Geralt’s hand finds his throat,

And then Geralt’s gentling Jaskier back; the Witcher bows over him to kiss the taste of himself from Jaskier’s lips, licks into his mouth to _chase_ it, follows it from his tongue to the edge of his stubbled jaw, up over his cheekbone, 

And Jaskier stays _still_ as Geralt cleans him with his own tongue, as he keeps the Siren _right_ where he wants him with a slick, _commanding_ hand,

Until;

“Come here, little lark,” the Witcher burrs, and Jaskier moves when Geralt urges him forwards by the chin, but when he tries to clamber over the Witcher’s thighs, Geralt hums and tips to nuzzle against his ear, 

Murmurs, “turn _around_ , sweet thing,” and,

Jaskier’s ears _burn_ as he does what he’s told, 

And Geralt’s _huge_ hands grip his hips as he hauls Jaskier up over his thighs, until the Siren’s back is plastered to his chest, until Jaskier’s bowed back against him, Geralt’s half-hard cock nestled up against the cleft of his ass, legs spread _obscenely_ wide over Geralt’s _far_ thicker ones,

And the Witcher catches Jaskier’s chin again, forces his blue gaze _to the_ – the _mirror_ hung on the wall across from the end of their bed,

A mirror _far_ bigger than the one in their old flat, with a vintage frame of white flowers, a surface about as wide and tall as the end of the bed itself,

And Jaskier’s flushing from his ears to his chest as he meets his own glassy gaze in the mirror, 

As Geralt slides _possessive_ , protective hands over his _straining_ thighs, up along the _tense_ crease of his groin, _cruelly_ avoiding the swell of his unattended cock _trapped_ in his satin panties, the slick head peeking out from the top,

And the camera’s set up beside the _damn_ _mirror_ , red light flickering as it records,

_As -_

“The word, Jaskier,”

And,

“Selkiemore,”

“ _Good_ ,” and the praise burrows down into the _core_ of him, makes his dick jump and his heart surge up into his throat, and he’s – _Gods_ , he wants to be sunk _so_ badly, wants to be reduced to _nothing_ but a trembling mess of _need_ , wants to be _consumed_ by Geralt until there’s nothing _left_ , if only for a little while, 

And it’s so fucking easy, to fall into that space,

When he’s got Geralt’s arms wrapped around him, the safest place he’s _ever_ lived,

When he’s got Geralt’s _gentle_ praise ghosting over his nape,

When he’s got Geralt’s eyes pinning him in place as he _sinks_ into Jaskier, and –

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jaskier manages, the word coming out _sideways_ as he leans into the forearm Geralt has braced against his chest, as he _clutches_ at Geralt’s hand and – “you’re so – _big_ , daddy, you’re _so_ fucking _big_ ,”

And,

“You’re so _tight_ , sweet thing,” Geralt says, sounding so _proud_ it makes Jaskier _whimper_ , a bit, because - _Gods_ , that’s _all he wants_ , just wants to _be_ good, wants to make his Witcher _feel_ good, and when Geralt breathes, “you’re _always_ so fucking _tight_ for me,” Jaskier bites his lip against a whine and _clenches_ around the thick cock he can feel at the back of his damn _throat_ ,

Clenches, until Geralt’s _moaning_ against his nape, until the Witcher’s pumping slowly up into the heat of his body like he _can’t fucking control himself_ , like he’s physically _incapable_ of keeping himself _still_ ,

And Jaskier _chokes_ on a soft gasp as Geralt thrusts _slow_ and _deep_ into him, as the Witcher grips a hip with one hand and splays the other over the front of the throat Jaskier can _feel_ him in, 

As those eclipsed, _sunlit_ eyes peer over Jaskier’s shoulder, meet his own in the mirror, _and_ \- 

“Keep those eyes on _me_ , little lark,” because,

“I need to see you,” and,

“Tell me how it _feels_ , Jaskier,” and,

“Let me hear your voice,”

So,

“ _Daddy_ ,” and it comes out _breathless_ , comes out just this side of _desperate_ , because Jaskier’s sinking _fast_ , and he needs – _needs_ – “daddy, _please_ , please –“

 _But_ ,

“I _have_ you, my love,” Geralt says, and it’s _deep_ and it’s _soothing_ , rolls down Jaskier’s spine as the Witcher’s gentle hand cups the front of his throat and he splays the other over the flat, _satin-soft_ plain of Jaskier’s belly, 

And Geralt _does_ , he _knows_ ,

And Jaskier lets _all_ the tension _bleed_ from his body as he moans, “you’re _so_ big, fill me up _so_ fucking well,” so,

“Don’t _stop_ , daddy, don’t hold back, _please_ , I _need_ -” and Jaskier lets out a _raw_ , cracking _keen_ as Geralt starts to fuck up into him _proper_ , as the Witcher bares his _teeth_ against the side of his throat and starts to suck _hard_ at the skin, 

And his thighs _quiver_ with it, the shimmering sapphire nylon of his stockings glittering like the surface of the _sea_ as Geralt takes him apart with the _bruising_ pace of his thrusts, with the way he fucks into the tight, wet heat of Jaskier’s body and bites at his skin, leaves purple blooming over ivory,

As,

Jaskier _whines_ , whines and cries out when the Witcher shifts inside him, when he moves just a little to the side and starts hitting Jaskier’s prostate with the head of his cock like it’s true north on his compass rose until the Siren is _sobbing_ with it, body absolutely _strung out,_

Mind absolutely sunk _deep_ ,

And then Geralt’s hand slides down to cup Jaskier’s _aching_ , hurting cock through the panties, and the Witcher thumbs over the cherry-pink head as _he starts to_ – starts to _talk_ , 

Says things like;

“You’re _so_ good, sweet thing, take me _so_ well,” and,

“I could _live_ buried inside you – even the thought of it gets you _so_ wet, _fuck_ , Jaskier,” and,

“ _Look_ at yourself, little lark, _look_ ,” 

And,

Jaskier _does_ ,

Lifts his gaze to the mirror as Geralt suddenly slows his thrusts, as the Witcher draws him back to his chest and frames the Siren’s jaw with his brutally tender hand so _Jaskier has to_ – has to drink in their reflection, 

And it’s _beyond_ obscene, _especially_ when Geralt growls _low_ and _soft_ , and Jaskier follows the line of his golden-eyed gaze,

As he lifts the Siren _up_ , slow and _easy_ , one arm braced against his chest, the other wrapped like a band of _iron_ around his waist,

And Geralt’s hungry, _devouring_ gaze is _affixed_ over where his cock slides _out of_ and then _back into_ Jaskier, 

And it’s so fucking _quiet_ , but Jaskier’s ears _ring_ as he clutches at Geralt’s arms, as his cock strains against the _delicate_ , mouth-melting satin it’s caught behind, as his Witcher watches the way he fills Jaskier with a hunger that sets his damn _bones_ on fire,

As –

“I’ve _never_ felt anything like you,” Geralt murmurs lowly, possessive gaze _just_ this side of _wild_ as his nose furls and his lips ghost over Jaskier’s shoulder, and he looks _lost_ in it as he watches himself sink back into the clutch of his Siren,

And Jaskier lets out a shaking, _guttural_ moan as he _squirms_ on the spear of Geralt’s thick cock, but the Witcher keeps him spread open with his thighs, keeps him pinned _right_ where he knows Jaskier _wants_ to be - _needs_ to be - with his _keeping_ , protecting, _possessive_ arms,

“Daddy,” Jaskier whines, and he doesn’t dare try to touch himself, but – “it _hurts_ , please, I _need_ –“

“ _Say it,_ Jaskier,” his Witcher burrs, lips sliding up the slope of his strong throat, sunlit eyes piercing through Jaskier’s sky-blue, “tell daddy what you need,”

“Fuck, oh _fuck_ , oh, _Gods_ –“

“You love it when I say it – your _scent_ , Jaskier, _it_ –“ and the Witcher’s nostrils flare and he lifts a brow, catches the diamond bauble dangling from the Siren’s ear between his teeth before; “tell me what you _need_ , little lark, you _know_ I’ve got you, you _know_ daddy’s got you,”

 _And_ ,

It’s –

Fucking _obscene_ ,

 _That_ word shaped on _that_ tongue,

 _Growled_ out on that _impossibly_ _deep_ voice, 

And Jaskier’s writhing _proper_ as he _strains_ against Geralt’s iron-strong arms, as he _whines_ out a pitiful, “ _daddy_ ,” all so Geralt hushes him _so sweetly_ when he does, hushes him the way that has Jaskier’s heart turning sideways, the way that makes him feel _so_ safe, so _secure_ , so _kept_ ,

The way that has Jaskier biting his bottom lip to stifle his pleas as Geralt kisses slow and wet over his bruised throat, and Jaskier stifles his _desperate_ pleas as Geralt hushes him _so_ sweetly, 

Because he _knows_ Geralt _has him_ , knows that Geralt will _always_ take care of him, would _never_ leave him _wanting_ for long, not out of anything other than his own misplaced _guilt_ or agonized _fear_ , 

And, slightly _overwhelmed_ with emotion, Jaskier twists as much as he’s able in Geralt’s _keeping_ hold, twists to nuzzle at Geralt’s cheekbone as the Witcher burrs _deep_ in his chest and catches the Siren’s _bitten_ lips in a kiss that makes Jaskier’s eyes _sting_ ,

And,

“ _Please,_ daddy,” and Jaskier _whines_ it as he lets fat tears fall down his cheeks, and Geralt hums, croons his name, catches saltwater on his lips as he fucks into the Siren, as he ghosts a hand over the swell of Jaskier’s _weeping_ cock caught in the sapphire panties, as Jaskier _begs_ , “please, daddy, I need to _cum_ , I _need_ – I need your _hands on me_ , I need you to _touch me_ , please, it _hurts_ ,”

“I have you, Jaskier,” and Geralt sounds almost sympathetic as he fucks into the heat of him, as he chases his own pleasure and thumbs over the slick head of Jaskier’s cock, peeking out from the top of the _barely-there_ panties with the diamond gap in the back, “daddy _has_ you, sweet thing, let go, you need to let go for me,”

“No, no, I need you to _touch me_ , daddy, _please_ –“

“Like this, baby, you can do it,”

“ _Daddy_ –“

“That’s it, little lark, _let go_ , I’ve got you, I’ve got you,”

And Jaskier _sobs_ with it, when Geralt _just_ – cups his cock, thumb sweeping over the head, 

As he fucks into him, finds his prostate with _every fucking hit,_

And then Geralt is stroking soft and easy over the bulge of the Siren’s dick,

 _Just_ ,

Soft, slow strokes that are as _maddening_ as they are _relieving_ ,

And on every third or fifth stroke, Geralt stills his hand _entirely_ , all so Jaskier arches back into him, so the Siren _sobs_ out his name, and he doesn’t _dare_ try and touch himself, knows Geralt won’t let him cum at all if he _does_ ,

So he _clutches_ at Geralt’s forearms and rolls his hips, clenches around Geralt’s cock until the Witcher is panting like a fucking _animal_ against the side of his throat, until Geralt’s uttering a punched-out, “ _Jaskier_ ,” and –

That’s what _does it,_

When Geralt pants like a damn _animal_ against a particularly sore bruise,

When he utters a wrenching, “ _Jaskier_ ,” and,

Cums buried _deep_ in Jaskier, packs him _full_ the way he _needs_ , and,

_That’s what does it,_

And Jaskier cums as Geralt _growls_ against his nape, as his hips _stutter_ and go _still_ , 

Shoots his load over the sapphire corset, over their sheets,

As his walls grip greedily at Geralt’s cock, still _hard_ inside him,

And Jaskier’s _floating_ , briefly, as he cums _untouched_ over the sapphire corset, the ruined sheets,

As Geralt gathers him close, mouths over his nape, nuzzles up into his hair, and he’s going soft inside Jaskier now, 

_But then –_

_Oh_ , but then,

Now,

 _See_ ,

Witchers are, as a rule, _undefeated_ in their stamina,

Which makes them just as _undefeatable_ in _bed_ as on the _battlefield_ ,

And Jaskier whimpers when Geralt carefully, _tenderly_ pulls out of him,

When Geralt lays him out over the cum-streaked sheets, 

But Jaskier’s still _drifting_ as he relaxes into the cum-soaked sheets,

As he hums a soft, “ _Geralt_ ,” and,

He’d _whimpered_ when Geralt pulled out of him,

But he _shouts_ , this time,

 _Shouts_ , when Geralt –

“Fuck, _fuck_ , Geralt!”

 _But_ ,

“What was that, sweet thing?” Geralt asks, teeth glancing over the softening line of Jaskier’s cock, and the Witcher thumbs at his _loosened_ , cum-slick hole as he ghosts his lips over sapphire satin, as he _waits_ , waits for Jaskier to gather himself enough to utter –

“ _Daddy_ ,”

And,

“Daddy _what_ , little lark?”

And – he’s _waiting_ , Jaskier thinks, chest _aching_ with a _raw_ , all-consuming _love_ ; he’s _waiting_ , his Witcher is, waiting for Jaskier to _gather himself_ , to catch his breath, all so he can say –

“ _Don’t stop_ ,” and Jaskier’s head _spins_ as Geralt’s tongue unfurls, as the Witcher _licks_ at his damp panties, as he mouths over the soft swell of Jaskier’s cock until it’s _swelling_ again, _and it_ – it _hurts_ , hurts in the most _incredible_ way, and Jaskier’s singing proper, now, as Geralt slides a hand under his ass, as he tugs at the bow holding the delicate underwear together,

And the Witcher drags it away with his _teeth_ to reveal the Siren’s dick, ghosts his mouth over Jaskier’s tightened sac before laving his tongue _right_ up the river of the thick vein to the cherry-pink head as he sinks a thumb into Jaskier’s hole, _just_ to keep him plugged up with the proof of _devotion_ Geralt’s left between his _quivering_ thighs,

And, 

_Let it be known,_

That while Jaskier may have an oral fixation a mile wide,

No one sucks cock _quite_ like Geralt,

Because the Witcher swallows Jaskier down like it’s his god-given duty, the only thing he was born for _at-fucking-all,_

And Jaskier’s singing proper, now, 

A hymn of _broken_ keens and pitchy _moans_ , of; “ _daddy_ , yes, _just like that_ , fuck, don’t _stop_ , daddy, _please_ , milk me _dry_ ,” and,

Geralt sinks two fingers into Jaskier, curls them until he’s hitting his worked prostate, the bundle of nerves _screaming_ with it as Geralt worries it _raw_ ,

And Jaskier’s hips crest as he grips the sheets over his head when Geralt hums around him, when he takes Jaskier down until he’s hitting the back of the Witcher’s throat; it’s over almost embarrassingly quick – Jaskier cums for a second time with a shout of, “fuck, _Geralt_ , daddy, _don’t_ –“ and Geralt pins him to the bed with one hand over his hips, 

Slides off of Jaskier’s cock with a low, _satisfied_ burr,

And then he’s _prowling_ over Jaskier, 

Is putting his lips to the Siren’s,

And Jaskier thinks he’s about to fucking _die_ when Geralt feeds him his _own fucking spunk_ , when he drops it lovingly over the Siren’s seasalt tongue with one _commanding_ hand framing his jaw, and Geralt thumbs down his throat like he’s coaxing Jaskier to _swallow_ as he kisses him until Jaskier’s _cheeks_ ache, 

“I feel you,” Geralt says lowly, and his golden eyes are bright and _possessive_ , so flush with _pride_ it’s got Jaskier’s sky-blue ones _stinging_ , and then Geralt opens his beautiful, _fool_ mouth and - “you _know_ … You _have_ to know… There’s _nothing_ in the _world_ like you, like the _scent_ of you, the _taste_ of you – the sound of your _voice_ ,” and,

“Your voice…” and,

“It’s brought me back to life more times than I can count,”

“Don’t stop,” Jaskier manages, and his eyes are bleeding diamonds again, _as_ , “don’t stop kissing me, please, don’t stop, _don’t_ ,”

But,

“ _Never_ ,” Geralt breathes, lips melting down against Jaskier’s, and the Siren is a puddle of _need_ and _want_ as the Witcher cages him to the bed, as he keeps Jaskier _whole_ and _safe_ beneath him, as he keeps the world _away_ from what _belongs_ to him,

And Jaskier clutches at Geralt’s softly heaving ribs, lifts his knees to the Witcher’s waist, rolls his hips even though his cock is utterly _spent_ , 

But Geralt’s getting hard again as he kisses Jaskier _breathless_ , as he pours over his Siren and _gives_ and _gives_ of himself, as he gathers Jaskier _together_ and holds him in _one place_ ,

And then Geralt’s sliding a hand under Jaskier’s spine, is snapping the hooks of the satin corset open with practiced _ease_ , and Jaskier feels oddly – _vulnerable_ , as Geralt peels the delicate satin away from his skin, as he slides back just to remove his nylon stockings with _care_ ,

“ _Geralt_ ,” 

“ _Right_ here, baby, I’m _right_ here,”

And,

Then the Witcher is gentling Jaskier onto his side, and Jaskier _melts_ back into Geralt’s chest when he spoons behind him, goes _loose_ and _pliant_ as the Witcher slides a hand down his thigh, catches his leg beneath his knee and –

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jaskier moans, and it feels like sweet _deliverance_ , when Geralt sinks back into him, when the Witcher fills him back up the way he knows Jaskier _needs_ , 

And they’re facing their camera, the mirror, and Jaskier _has to admit_ – the sight of them is _beyond_ divine, looks like some kind of damn _painting_ ; they’re all draped out over the sheets, and Geralt holds Jaskier _so_ close as he fucks _slow_ and _shallow_ into him, as he nuzzles at Jaskier’s ear and meets the Siren’s gaze in their reflection,

As he burrs, 

“You’re _so_ beautiful,” and,

“When you _wear_ those things, Jaskier, _fuck_ ,” and,

“I lose my damn _sense_ ,”

And Jaskier’s in _too fucking deep_ to say anything _coherent_ , but his heart swells as Geralt pours his praise over him, as he fucks shallow and slow into the wet clutch of his body, as he nips at Jaskier’s ear and the Siren presses back against him, 

As Jaskier’s _poor_ , abused dick starts to _swell_ , as it starts to stir under the intense command of Geralt’s golden gaze, and the Witcher breathes, “oh, little lark,” as Jaskier bites his lip and _whimpers_ , as his cock gets fully hard and _strains_ up against his belly,

But,

“I don’t,” and it comes out tight as Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s cock, “I don’t know if I can –“

“You can, baby,”

“ _Geralt_ –“

“Say it again, sweet thing, say my name,”

“Geralt, _oh fuck_ , Geralt –“

“ _Mm_ ,” the Witcher burrs, and his hand is calloused and too dry around Jaskier’s cock, but the way he strokes him is sending _sparks_ up Jaskier’s spine, sends _fire_ over his ribs, and he’s just this side of too sensitive but also _beyond_ needy, _beyond_ desperate to watch as Geralt _makes_ him cum even though he thinks he _can’t_ ,

And the mere thought of Geralt _forcing_ him to get himself _filthy_ has Jaskier _panting_ , has his hips straining as Geralt starts to thrust with _real_ purpose into him, as he strokes Jaskier _faster_ , just the way the Siren _likes_ , the way he strokes himself when he makes Geralt _watch_ , and,

“ _Daddy_ , daddy, _please_ , make me cum, _make me_ , I _need_ to, need you to _make me,”_

“I _have_ you, little lark, I have you, keep your eyes on me,”

“ _Oh_ fuck, _oh, oh, oh_ –“

And then –

“ _No_ , Geralt, _daddy_ , don’t _stop_ , please –“

“Shh, I’ve got you, trust me,”

_But –_

He _stopped_ ,

And Jaskier lets out a _grating_ groan as Geralt cups his cock, as he traps it between his calloused palm and his flat belly, 

As he slows his thrusts and bites at Jaskier’s throat, as he noses behind his ear and _moans_ , the sound so deep and so _violent_ it shakes Jaskier like a damn _earthquake_ ,

And then Geralt’s stroking him again, grip just a little too _loose_ ,

But Jaskier will _take it_ \- fuck, he’d take _anything_ ,

And he starts to _pant_ again as Geralt strokes him _loose_ and _soft_ , as he watches Jaskier in the mirror, sunlit gaze _so_ intense, so _possessive_ , so –

 _Dark_ ,

And,

Jaskier doesn’t think he can cum but he’s desperate for Geralt to _make_ him, _desperate_ for the Witcher to milk him dry, _desperate_ for the _pain_ of it, the blinding _pleasure_ of it, and Geralt has been the _only one_ who’s _ever_ seen him like this, is the _only one_ who holds such _power_ over the God-blooded, sea-born beauty,

 _Just_ as _Jaskier_ is the _only one_ who holds _power_ over the yellow-eyed hunter who _worships_ him like the holy thing he pretends he _isn’t_ ,

But the _only_ reason he’s _any_ kind of holy at _all_ is _because_ –

“I love you,” Geralt breathes, sounding _wrecked_ with it, and Jaskier is drifting on sex and ardor as the Witcher sweeps his thumb over the head of his cock, and Jaskier doesn’t realize that the _aching_ , keening _moan_ that rolls through his ears is coming from him until Geralt is hushing him in the way that makes him feel _so_ safe, so _kept_ , so _held_ , and,

“Daddy, _oh_ , I’m _gonna_ – I’m gonna, _please_ –“

“That’s it, sweet thing, cum for me, let me see you, let me feel it,”

And Geralt’s voice is the force that commands the tide of his damn soul, so,

Jaskier _does_ ,

Cums _dry_ and piercingly _sweet_ with a hoarse, _growling_ cry as Geralt pumps him through it, fucks him through it, and when the Witcher _doesn’t stop stroking,_ Jaskier utters a frantic, “ _Geralt_ ,” just as his muscles go tense one last time, way too _soon_ , too _quick_ , and _his vision_ – his vision _blacks out,_

And Jaskier thinks he’s flying and falling _all at once_ as the only thing he knows becomes the way Geralt’s voice reverberates through his fucking _bones_ , the way the Witcher’s soothing hums and gentle burrs unfurl like a fever under his skin,

And he’s blacked the _fuck_ out, but he can still _feel_ Geralt, can still feel the Witcher’s arms around him, the fullness of his cock buried inside him, can feel the quickened pattern of Geralt’s heartbeat against his spine as he _drifts_ , falls, _flies_ ,

As he sinks deeper into the velvet atmosphere of Geralt’s devotion, 

_Until_ ,

The world begins to _settle_ , as,

Jaskier becomes aware of soft blankets against his skin, _and_ ,

Geralt’s still spooned behind him, but the Witcher’s fetched a pillow for Jaskier, has dragged a blanket over them where they lie at the end of their bed, facing the mirror,

As Geralt nuzzles at Jaskier’s throat, a constant, rolling burr simmering low in his chest,

As he strokes over Jaskier’s chest, his stomach, his hips,

And he’s still buried to the hilt inside the Siren’s body, is just, _living_ there, keeping _hard_ , keeping _warm_ , which has Jaskier’s gut flaring with a _fierce_ pride, with a _delight_ that he can’t quite keep from showing on his face as he blinks through the haze and shifts in Geralt’s arms,

“Little lark,” and the Witcher sounds _worried_ , because _of course_ he does, so Jaskier hums contentedly and snuggles _closer_ to his chest, rolls his ass back into Geralt’s groin until the Witcher _growls_ and catches his hip in one hand to keep him _still_ ,

“Jaskier,”

“I’m _fine_ , wolf,” Jaskier croons with a faint grin, and he’s – _fuck_ , he’s _exhausted_ , that was _exhausting_ , “that was _spectacular_ , Christ - is it _your_ birthday or _mine_?”

And Geralt _relaxes_ then, gives a low, soft laugh that warms Jaskier better than the blankets _ever_ could; the Witcher kisses up his throat, across his face, burrs like an overgrown cat as he slides an arm around his Siren’s slender waist, as he tangles their legs together under the blankets, as –

“Nope,” Jaskier mumbles when Geralt makes to pull out of him, and the Witcher goes still even as he radiates hesitation, “unless you want to,”

“Jaskier,”

“Daddy,”

“ _Jaskier_ ,”

“You don’t want to stay?”

“I – do,”

“Then,”

“You’re going to be the _death_ of me, little lark,” Geralt growls against his ear, and Jaskier laughs, shudders a bit as goosebumps flutter down his arms, and Geralt nuzzles against his throat as he pulls the Siren impossibly closer, as he slides back into him to the hilt,

“I – oh, _fuck_ , Geralt, there we go – need a _nap_ , but, feel free to do as you please, darling, I _promise_ I won’t complain,”

“ _Jesus_ , Jaskier,”

“ _Especially_ if the camera’s still recording,”

And when Geralt doesn’t reply to that, Jaskier forces his heavy eyes open, peers at the Witcher in the mirror, 

Finds Geralt _watching_ him as if he _can’t quite believe_ this isn’t some cruel _dream_ , and he’s got a hand over Jaskier’s throat again as his sunlit eyes go _dark_ with a borderline _feral_ kind of possessiveness, the kind of thing that has Jaskier’s stomach lurching up between his lungs,

“I love you, Geralt of Rivia,” he murmurs, and the words seem to come out of their own accord as Jaskier reaches up to card his fingers through that silver hair, and he grows _lax_ and _soft_ against Geralt as he keeps the Witcher _hard_ and _warm_ inside him,

“You’re the _heart_ of me, Julian,” and,

Jaskier’s eyes _burn_ when the Witcher’s voice shapes his name - his _true_ name, the name Geralt doesn’t _ever_ use but for _right_ , right _here_ , 

And he presses back into Geralt as the Witcher gathers him _impossibly_ close in the iron fortress of his _keeping_ arms, 

And it’s the Witcher’s birthday, a day Jaskier knows he’s _none_ too fond of,

But he thinks, as Geralt _burrs_ against his ear and his hips strain even as Jaskier begins to drift off,

Thinks that perhaps this _particular_ battle can be counted as a _win_ , overall.

**Author's Note:**

> songs:  
> gods & monsters - lana del rey  
> alexis texas - cruel youth  
> mirrors - natalia kills


End file.
